When extreme religious fundamentalists known as the Phineas Priesthood led by Ezekiel Yates and his three cousins, target Xantara Pembroke because they believe she is a witch, they launch a major conflict between unworldly disciples of good and evil. This 60,000-word, action-packed thriller shows the twists and turns of both sides as they try to destroy or save the souls of earth.

Imogene is the daughter of Xantara, a Guardian of Avebury Circle, an ancient monument near Stonehenge. For over three thousand years, wives of eight village families have performed ceremonies to heal local people, with power handed down from first daughter to first daughter. The Pembroke family encounter extreme prejudice from the Priesthood.

Braedon the village doctor is drawn into a world he didn't know existed to protect his daughter. His wife Xantara keeps her secrets and causes conflict in the marriage. All that is forgotten when Imogene levitates in Avebury Circle.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Humanitarian aid worker Gia Andrews chases disasters around the globe for a living. It's the perfect lifestyle to keep her far away from her own personal ground zero. Sixteen years ago, Gia's father was imprisoned for brutally killing her stepmother. Now he's come home to die of cancer, and she's responsible for his care—and coming to terms with his guilt.

Gia reluctantly resumes the role of daughter to the town's most infamous murderer, a part complete with protesters on the lawn and death threats that are turning tragedy into front-page news. Returning to life in small-town Tennessee involves rebuilding relationships that distance and turmoil have strained, though finding an emotional anchor in the attractive hometown bartender is certainly helping Gia cope.

As the past unravels before her, Gia will find herself torn between the stories that her family, their friends and neighbors, and even her long-departed stepmother have believed to be real all these years. But in the end, the truth—and all the lies that came before—may have deadlier consequences than she could have ever anticipated…

"The Last Breath will leave you breathless. This edgy and emotional thriller will keep you guessing until the very end."

---New York Times bestselling author HEATHER GUDENKAUF

The Last Breath releases September 30th, 2014. Check out Amazon for an excerpt and to pre-order.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Despite Prudence Pentyre’s best efforts, her cousin Margaret proves reluctant to accept Sir James Brownell’s marriage proposal, and fears being “bovinised” if she undergoes the controversial cowpox vaccination he recommends. And the dashing baronet seems more concerned about the plight of headhunters in Borneo than Margaret’s refusal. Then Prudence suddenly finds herself smitten with the man. What to do? What to do?

Excerpt

Chapter 1

“You should not wear that to the pox party,” Prudence
Pentyre said, indicating her younger cousin’s dress of light green
Italian silk. “I recommend something with short sleeves which
allows you to expose your forearm to the lancet.”

Margaret
shuddered. Her plain face, pale and lightly freckled, appeared
downcast. “Oh, Pru, I wish I didn’t have to go.” She stood,
slender shoulders drooping, in front of her open wardrobe.

“Truly,
Meg, there’s nothing to worry about,” Prudence assured her,
slipping a comforting arm around her cousin’s slim waist. “Papa
had all of us vaccinated with the cow pox when we were still in the
school room—and the servants too. I’m quite surprised my Uncle
Giles didn’t do the same,” Prudence replied.

A
glint of disapproval flashed in her soft brown eyes. Silently, she
fumed. Uncle Giles had held too many old-fashioned notions. Such an
old stick! He was dead now, having suffered an apoplexy two years
ago. Her mother, if she knew of Prudence’s unspoken condemnation,
would have reminded her not to speak ill of the dead. This dictate
had never made sense to Prudence. Why were some of life’s most
unsavory characters deemed to be saints after their deaths? Not that
Uncle Giles was unsavory, but he had been shamefully old-fashioned.

“Look,
Meg, there’s not even a scar.” Prudence held out a white arm for
her cousin’s perusal. “Mr. Jenner’s procedure is almost
painless and quite safe, much safer than buying the smallpox and
enduring the dreaded disease.”

“Papa
didn’t believe in it. He said it was God’s will some people
should die of the small pox,” Margaret said, turning away from her
to examine an array of dresses hanging in the wardrobe.

“God
is not so cruel,” Prudence insisted.

“Some
say the vaccination will cause one’s facial features to resemble
those of a cow,” Margaret ventured, her forehead creasing with
anxious wrinkles.

Prudence
laughed. “Neither John or Patience have any cowlike features, and
you can see for yourself I do not.” Slightly unsettled by her
cousin’s close examination, Prudence shrugged.

“Yes,
look at me, Meg! Do I resemble a cow? I can assure you I don’t have
a cow tail hidden beneath my skirts either. None of us have
bovinized, as you fear. I believe Mr. Jenner’s procedure to have
been God-inspired. Truly. Papa has preached this same opinion from
the pulpit. Mr. Jenner took notice how milkmaids and dairy farmers
did not succumb to the deadly small pox plague when there was an
outbreak in their village. It was because of their exposure to the
harmless cowpox. It was an amazing observation which will benefit us
all.”

Like
her parents, Prudence was an ardent admirer of Edward Jenner. In
fact, her father the Reverend Henry Pentyre was a member of the Royal
Jennerian Society and helped to raise money to give free vaccination
to throughout England. Prudence enjoyed accompanying her father when
he rode out to the rural areas to administer the vaccine himself to
those members of his parish willing to undergo the procedure.

“But
what if you should marry and have children?” Margaret hinted,
unconvinced. She clutched her hands at her waist. Prudence, noting
the slight tremor, realized her cousin was trying not to reveal her
agitation.

“Both
John and Patience are married with children and none of my nieces and
nephews look like heifers, I assure you!” Prudence insisted. She
gave Margaret a reassuring pat on the shoulder “You’re making a
great fuss for nothing.”

With
a sigh, Margaret retrieved a short-sleeved muslin gown from the
wardrobe and held it up before her. As she considered her image in
the mirror, Prudence stepped up behind her, peering over her cousin’s
shoulder. Smiling at Margaret’s reflection, she noted the
similarity of their features. They were much the same height—too
tall and thin to be in fashion. They had dark brown hair, pert noses,
and generous mouths, much too wide to be considered beautiful. But
each had soulful brown eyes, heavily fringed with thick, dark lashes.

Prudence
considered her eyes her best physical feature. They were large and
expressive. When she had been much younger, an infatuated suitor had
once written a poem for her, referring to the subject of his
adoration as the, “lovely, ox-eyed Prudent Athena.” Smiling,
she recalled this bit of poetic nonsense, but decided not to mention
the particular compliment to Margaret. At least not until after the
girl had been vaccinated with cowpox and quite recovered from her
current state of anxious misery.

Addressing
her cousin’s image in the mirror, Margaret asked, “What are you
smiling about?”

“Nothing,”
Prudence answered as she prinked her dusky curls before stepping away
from the mirror. Her mother had raised her and her older sister
Patience not to think overmuch of their appearance.

“Pretty
is as pretty does,” Mrs. Pentyre had reminded them many a time.
In all honesty, Prudence wasn’t pretty, and she knew it. Neither
was her sister Patience. But their friendly smiles and easy manners
had afforded them some modest popularity in society. Patience had wed
several years ago and was the proud mother of three vivacious
youngsters. At the age of twenty-seven, Prudence remained unmarried,
and did not blush to acknowledge it.

“Pru,
have you ever wanted to?” Margaret asked, as though reading her
mind.

“Wanted
to what?” Prudence replied with a slight hesitation.

“Don’t
you want to marry and have children?” Margaret asked with an
unsteady smile. “Have you never received an offer of marriage from
an eligible gentleman?” She twirled away from the mirror to lay the
newly selected dress across her bed.

“Two
offers actually, but quite long ago. Mamma considered them eligible;
I did not,” Prudence admitted. “Neither one of them was handsome
or dashing. One lolled about. He never seemed to sit or stand up
straight. He positively drooped upon the furniture, the mantle, even
his horse. He smoked foul-smelling cigars and his jackets reeked of
smoke.” Prudence rolled her eyes. “The other one could barely
string two coherent sentences together to make an interesting
conversation. He was socially backward—sadly so.”

“Even
so, have you never regretted rejecting their proposals?” Margaret
pursued.

“Indeed I have
not,” Prudence insisted. “Being unmarried has allowed me to
become involved with Mr. Wilberforce’s Abolition Society—and I’ve
found the work to be fulfilling and meaningful.” Then noting her
cousin’s perplexed frown, she added, “Please don’t think I
nurse a broken heart in my bosom. I do not. I’ve also been blessed
with a modest inheritance left to me by my fraternal grandmother, so
I’m under no pressure to marry for security.”

“I
wish I had a rich grandmother,” Margaret commented with a gloomy
frown.

“Just
because my emotions have been unmoved by men’s romantic
attention, it is no reason for you not to marry,” Prudence
went on, ignoring her cousin’s comment. “Your mother has informed
us you are about to make an advantageous match.”

“I’ve
not yet accepted him,” Margaret said with a sigh. She sat down on
the edge of the bed with a dejected air.

She
did not tell her younger cousin she’d been invited by her aunt to
visit them in Bath for the express purpose of coaxing Margaret into
accepting Sir James Brownell’s offer. Aunt Judith had resolved her
daughter should make a suitable match. The girl was twenty, some
seven years Prudence’s junior. Just because she’d not contracted
an eligible match for herself did not mean Prudence was unwilling to
see her younger cousin happily wed.

“So
tell me all about your young sprig of fashion,” Prudence urged,
smoothing her skirt and watching Margaret’s face with keen eyes.

Margaret
fixed her with a glare and then snorted in a most unladylike fashion.
“Sir James is neither young nor fashionable—mores the pity,”
she replied petulantly.

Prudence’s
mouth twitched with secret amusement. “I must say it all happened
rather suddenly, didn’t it?” she went on. “In your letters,
there had been no mention of Sir James Brownell and then recently, it
is all Aunt Judith has written about.”

“His
mother, Lady Eliza Brownell, and mine put their heads together and
planned it all. Such an ill-conceived idea!” Margaret replied,
pouting. “I was not consulted. And Sir James, who is marrying to
oblige his mama, had the audacity to tell me so. He mentioned it made
no difference to him whom he wed, as he knew no eligible young ladies
and was therefore, trusting Lady Brownell to select someone suitable
for him.”

Prudence
frowned. “How poor spirited! But I believe he has been ill, is that
not so? Perhaps he is not quite himself.”

Margaret
nodded. “Yes, he came to Bath to recover his health. Lady Eliza
keeps a house here. Sir James owns property in the country. Stalwood
is in the north somewhere. He told me as soon as he has fully
recovered, he will return to his estate to repair the leaking roof,
stop up the drafts, and clear the drains. Then we shall marry.” A
becoming flush heightened her complexion.

Prudence
said dryly, “How romantic! At least he’s taking his future
bride’s health into consideration. Best to prepare the leaking roof
and stop up the drafts first so you don’t fall ill with lung
disease immediately following the wedding.” On a softer note, she
asked, “Is there no affection between you at all?”

“He
says he admires me, and he always treats me with the greatest
courtesy,” Margaret told her, with a tremulous smile. “Mama
thinks it is wonderful he is so solicitous. But when we are together,
his speech is not in the least like a lover. Instead, he quite
pesters me with questions about the oddest matters—like my views on
slavery and the cowpox vaccine.” Lowering her voice, she
complained, “He talks too of the most dreadful things he has
encountered on his travels—as though I would care to hear of them.”
She gave a slight shudder.

Quirking
an eyebrow, Prudence asked, “What sort of dreadful things?”

Margaret
straightened with indignation. “Heathen headhunters!” This time,
her face flushed a deep, ugly red. “He never says pleasant,
complimentary things to me or talks with animation about anything a
lady would be interested in hearing about, not like…” Margaret
bit off the last words. Heaving a sigh, she finally added, “He’s
bold and brash and says just what he’s thinking.”

“Couldn’t
you find it in your heart to like him a little?” Prudence asked.
“Many marriages begin with little more than mutual consent. Later,
they grow into friendship and then love. Or so I’m told.” When
her cousin merely shrugged, Pru went on. “In her letters, Aunt
Judith described Sir James as a handsome man.”

“Handsome!”
Margaret gasped out the word. “How can she say so? There’s
nothing handsome about him at all—not even his manners. His skin is
burned brown by the wind and the sun. He dresses with indifference,
sometimes quite like a rustic. He walks with a pronounced limp, so he
cannot stand up to dance with me, although Lady Eliza assures me the
wound will heal. Worst of all, he wears an eye patch! Another injury,
and one, I fear, must be permanent.” She shuddered with loathing.

Prudence chuckled,
smoothing a wrinkle in her dress. “Your mother would never forgive
me.”

Margaret’s
shoulders slumped. “She’ll never forgive me either should I
refuse to marry the odious man. Oh, Pru! What am I to do? Did I
mention Sir James first dangled after the vicar’s daughter? She
refused his offer and sent him on his way, and I can hardly blame
her. But Lady Brownell insists he must marry, so she and Mama put
their heads together and decided we would make a good match
between us. How they can think it, I do not know.”

“Do
you despise him so much?” Prudence asked kindly.

Margaret shrugged.
“I do not despise him, but nor do I have any affection for him
whatsoever. I am not certain I even like him,” she
confessed. “He admitted quite frankly to me one bride is as good as
another, as long as she is young, healthy, and God-fearing.” She
shook her head and added feelingly, “As though he’d find heathen
women here in Bath like those he lived among in Borneo!”

Convinced
now Sir James must be somewhat addlebrained, Prudence asked
curiously, “Was he living there when he became ill? In Borneo?
Aunt Judith mentioned only that he had traveled extensively in the
Far East.”

“Yes,
he has been there for some years. Recently, he was injured while
fighting Malay pirates and then fell ill with malaria.”

“Quite
the adventurer, is he not?” Noting her cousin’s gloomy
countenance, Prudence rose from the chair and moved to sit beside her
on the bed. “Margaret, in all fairness, you must admit Sir James
would not have asked you to marry him, if he did not desire to marry
you. He’s a man grown. Lady Brownell cannot force him to
marry the bride of her choice, no more than your own mother would
force you to accept him—if you indeed find him so repugnant.”

Margaret
tilted her head to one side and considered for a moment. “I feel
indifference only. Occasionally, I do feel anger and resentment when
he insists I attend some insufferable function or another—like this
afternoon’s cowpox party at Lady Oldenfield’s.”

“He
is coming for you?” Prudence asked.

“No,
we shall meet him there. Mama insists I should go, as I’ve not yet
had the disease. Sir James has convinced her the Jenner vaccine is
much safer than buying the small pox in London in the usual way.”

“It is,”
Prudence assured her. “You have nothing to fear. We shall go
together. I will hold your hand, and you may introduce me to Sir
James.” She rose from the bed.

Margaret
shrugged. “All right then, if we must. In truth, I am interested to
know your opinion of him.” She rose from the bed with a sigh.

“Will
Sir James perform the vaccination procedure himself do you think?”
Prudence asked.

“I
do not believe so,” Margaret replied with a skeptical frown.
“Surely, there will be a physician? I wish I knew how Sir James
convinced Lady Oldenfield to host the affair in the first place,”
she said. “I am dreading it.”

“Meg, you are
fretting a good deal over nothing, I assure you,” Prudence tried to
cheer her. “My own father performed nearly all the vaccinations
upon the members of his congregation with my help and that of his
curate. It is quite a simple procedure and so effective. Papa hopes
one day in the near future, the christening and vaccination of small
children will be performed on the same day.”

Margaret appeared
so aghast at this hopeful suggestion Prudence could not help
laughing. Then she gave her cousin a heartfelt hug. “While you
change your gown, I will look in on Aunt Judith and tell her we will
be leaving soon. I shall ask her to have the carriage brought around
too.”

As
Prudence made her way down the drafty corridor to her aunt’s room,
she glanced outside the window. Such a bleak and dreary July day!
This summer had been unseasonable chilly. Prudence, who reveled in
the warmest weather, did not approve. Noting the gooseflesh on her
arms, she wished she had first stopped by her own room for a shawl.
She suspected her aunt would not have a fire in her room. Aunt Judith
lived as though she were penny pinched—much to the inconvenience of
her guests. Prudence considered her to be thoughtlessly stingy,
although her mother insisted her widowed sister-in-law was merely
frugal.

She
tapped on the door to her aunt’s room and opened it when she heard
her call, “Enter.” Prudence found her aunt sprawled upon her
chaise, indisposed. She was built upon thick and sturdy lines, which
belied her frail health. Her thinning dark hair appeared heavily
streaked with silver strands. Her long, plain face sadly resembled
that of a horse, Prudence thought. Two small tables were within her
aunt’s reach—one with a lovely Wedgwood tea service, the other
littered with bottles containing various elixirs for one ailment or
another.

“My
dear Prudence, it is so good to see you!” her aunt declared,
holding out a tremulous hand to her. “I do beg pardon for not
greeting you upon your arrival yesterday. I am positively burnt to
the bone socket. My headaches are quite debilitating, as you know. I
trust your dear mother and father are in good health?”

“They
are fine indeed,” Prudence assured her.

“Oh,
Prudence, I am so grateful you have come. I do so need your help,”
her aunt told her with a lachrymose expression.

“I
am always pleased to be of assistance to you, Aunt Judith,”
Prudence replied, squeezing her aunt’s hand as she bent to kiss her
pale cheek. As she did so, Prudence glanced sidelong toward the
hearth. No fire, as she feared. Then noting the purple bruises
beneath her aunt’s eyes and her sallow skin, Prudence felt a stab
of guilt for having assumed Mrs. Leyes had merely been indulging
herself with another imagined illness, a common habit with her. But
no, the woman did indeed look haggard.

“If
anyone can talk Margaret into seeing reason, it would be you. She has
always admired you—you have been more like an elder sister than a
cousin. I am so grateful.” Mrs. Leyes sniffed into her
handkerchief.

“I
am quite as fond of Margaret as she is of me,” Prudence assured
her, sitting down upon a small chintz-covered settee.

“Margaret
cannot afford to pass up this opportunity. In truth, it is like manna
from Heaven. You must make her see it, Pru.” With a sigh, her aunt
sank back against the chaise. “How could I bear it if I should die,
leaving my only child a spinster?” she wailed. “Margaret, an old
maid!”

Prudence
lowered her gaze, focusing her attention upon the ornate garnet ring
her grandmother had given to her upon her sixteenth birthday, more
than a decade ago. Her distraught aunt, realizing what she had said,
quickly begged pardon and gulped a swallow of tea from a dainty cup.

“I’m
sorry, Prudence,” she sputtered, her pale face flushing. “I did
not think. Oh, my wicked tongue! I do rattle on. Giles always said
so, and it is lamentably true.”

Clearing
her throat, Prudence replied, “It is also true I am—as you say—an
old maid. I’m nearer thirty than not and still unmarried. I am
resigned to my fate and contentedly so.”

She
forced a smile and admitted on most days, this was indeed true.

Love and marriage
were not part of God’s plan for her life. She had come to accept
it—most of the time. She felt blessed to have the loving support of
her parents, well as the modest inheritance left to her by her
grandmother, which became Prudence’s to manage when she had reached
the age of twenty-one. And although Mrs. Pentyre often hinted how
delighted she would be to see her youngest daughter happily married,
as were her other children, Patience and John, neither she nor the
vicar persisted in this and seemed pleased to have Prudence remain
with them to help with the church work.

Fixing
her niece with a tender gaze, Judith added, “I do hope you will not
think me impertinent, Prudence, but I cannot help wishing you were
credibly established—like your sister Patience, married to a kind
and generous husband.”

“I
have not yet met the right gentleman, Aunt Judith, nor am I likely to
do so—at my age,” she replied with a quick shrug. “Thankfully,
my parents have allowed me to make my own matrimonial decisions.”
Prudence winced then as she realizing how condemning the comment must
sound to her aunt who, indeed, wanted to force her own daughter into
a marriage of convenience.

But
her aunt had not noted the condemnation in her tone, and Prudence,
eager to change the subject, said, “I must confess, I am surprised
to learn Margaret is not yet officially betrothed. In your letters to
Mama, you intimated the match had been made. We expected to see the
announcement in the Times before I left for Bath.”

“No,
it is not official yet,” her aunt replied with a tragic sniff. “And
through no fault of Brownell’s, I assure you. He’s come up
to scratch. Margaret is the one balking at the fences,” she went on
with a lamentable mix of metaphors. “ I don’t know what to do. I
am at my wit’s end. She says she wants to carefully consider the
offer. But there is nothing to consider, as far as I am concerned. I
have never known Margaret to be so stubborn. She has always been such
a good, biddable girl. But now…” Judith’s shoulders slumped
with despair.

“Perhaps
Meg’s affections are engaged elsewhere?” Prudence suggested.

“I
do not believe so,” she replied, her forehead creasing with
perplexed wrinkles.

Recalling
her cousin’s less than enthusiastic comments about the gentleman,
Prudence added, “Perhaps she finds Sir James repugnant in some
way.”

“How
can that be?” her aunt queried. “The man is rich, attractive, and
personable, even though his manner may be considered,…” she
paused to find the right word.

“Brusque?”
Prudence prompted.

Her
aunt frowned. “Perhaps, but his lineage is impeccable. He came to
Bath for the express purpose of recovering his health and securing a
wife. He fixed his attention on Margaret almost at once.”

“After
first being rejected by the vicar’s daughter, I understand,”
Prudence pointed out. She regarded her aunt with arched brows.

“Not
our vicar’s daughter,” Judith replied, as though this made
all the difference in the world. “Margaret has never had an offer
before, you know. To be quite honest, she is not likely to have
another. Although I love my daughter dearly, I must admit the child
is lamentably plain.” Mrs. Leyes shook her head. “Even if
Margaret should receive another offer, which is doubtful as I have
said, it would surely not be as advantageous as this one. It is why I
have sent for you, Prudence. You must convince Margaret to marry Sir
James!” She raised a languid hand to indicate the teapot.

Prudence
shook her head, declining the offer of tea. “I’ll try to be
helpful to you, Aunt Judith,” she replied. “I wish Margaret all
the happiness in the world, but I will not urge her to marry someone
she finds repulsive.” She fixed a candid gaze upon her aunt’s
pale face.

“Then
you must convince her Sir James is not repulsive,” Judith
said stiffly. “He is an excellent man with a superior mind. He has
many fine…er…qualities besides his fortune. For Margaret, this
will be a most splendid match.” After a moment’s pause, she
frowned and asked with quiet hesitation, “Did Margaret say
she is repulsed by him?”

“She
complains he is rather an odd fish,” Prudence replied frankly.
Licking her dry lips, she added, “Margaret also thinks he is old
and unattractive.”

“Old?
Bah! He is not yet thirty-five years of age,” Judith insisted. “I
will admit, he is not handsome in the conventional way, but he has a
rugged, manly appearance. And he is rich. I believe I mentioned it,
did I not? His father invested heavily in the East India Company.
Sir James himself has done considerable business in the East as well,
importing antimony, I believe. It is my opinion he should be
commended for increasing the wealth of the estate left to him by his
late father.”

“What’s
not to like?” her aunt protested. “Sir James has wealth. He’s
generally admired and has none of the usual vices—like gambling and
excessive drink. Truly, Prudence, he has quite turned everyone’s
head with his tales of dining in foreign palaces with sultans and
Oriental princes. He brought back with him many curious mementos of
his journey to the East. It is true he is not debonair. But he cuts
quite a romantic figure nonetheless. Bath society has embraced him.”

“Yes,
but Margaret mentioned he walks with a limp and wears an eye patch.”
Suppressing a smile, Prudence tried to conjure an image of the
adventurous Sir James Brownell. The image portrayed by her aunt and
the one provided by her young cousin merged into something of a
comical figure.

“Poor
man! He was injured while fighting with Malay pirates. Why, he was
actually shot in the battle! Lady Brownell saved the bullet and keeps
it under glass, like some prize specimen to show to everyone who
calls.” Judith shook her head, tugging impatiently at her gown.
“But to his credit, Sir James is determined to take a missionary
back with him the next time he journeys East. As you are a vicar’s
daughter, you must approve.”

“You
are close friends with his mother, I believe?” Prudence asked,
ignoring the comment.

“Yes, Eliza and I
were at school together. Bosom chums,” she added with a reminiscent
smile. “We shared an infatuation for our dashing art instructor,
Signore Angelo Roscetti—such a handsome man with black
moustaches and flashing dark eyes.”

Prudence gently led
her aunt back on course. “Before I do what I can to convince
Margaret to accept Sir James’s offer, are you quite sure she has
not formed a secret passion for another?”

Her
aunt seemed bewildered by the suggestion. “No,” she insisted. She
then quickly amended this declaration with, “I don’t know.
Margaret has not shown a partiality to any young man I am aware of.
Nor has any gentleman singled her out.”

“Could
she be meeting someone in a clandestine manner?”

“Prudence,
no!” Judith declared. One frail hand fluttered to her throat.
“I’ve not heard of it. Someone would surely have noticed and
informed me of it, don’t you suppose?”

Prudence
thought much went on in Bath her reclusive aunt would not know about.
She could tell by Judith’s flushed face and agitated manner the
notion of Margaret meeting someone clandestinely had never occurred
to her. Prudence wished she had not mentioned it. Aunt Judith would,
she feared, fret about it.

“Poor
Margaret has been suffering with megrims of late. Some days, her
appetite is poorly," Judith stammered. “And yet on other
days, she fairly blooms with good health and high spirits. It is
puzzling, but of course, but I believe it is often so with the young.
They can be emotionally intemperate.”

“Don’t
worry, Aunt Judith. If Margaret does have a have a secret tendre
for some other gentleman, I will ferret it out,” Prudence promised.
She felt no qualms about doing so as Margaret had not given the
slightest indication she nursed a secret passion for Another. “Who
knows? He may even be in attendance at Lady Oldenfield’s gathering
this afternoon. I shall look sharp.”

Her aunt’s eyes
widened with apprehension. She blinked. “Did she mention…?”

“No, Aunt Judith,
I do not mean to tease you,” Prudence hastened to assure her. “Meg
did not confess any such secret passion to me. She is merely
indifferent to Sir James—so she told me. She cannot bring herself
to accept him as her husband.”

“Do what you can
to see she warms to him,” her aunt pressed. “If there is
someone else, Clarissa Paige may possibly know who it might be.”

“I remember Miss
Paige,” Prudence said, immediately recalling the pretty, dark
haired young woman, who was Margaret’s true and closest friend. If
her cousin had indeed revealed any secret passion to her bosom chum,
Prudence would find it no easy task to pry the secret from Clarissa’s
loyal lips.

“Be clever,
Prudence,” her aunt cajoled, as though reading her thoughts. “You
must persuade Clarissa to speak with you regarding Margaret’s
confidences—if indeed she has shared such.”

“I fear you
overestimate my abilities, Aunt Judith, but I will try.” In a
teasing manner, she tilted her head to one side. “I may have to
take up a flirtation with Clarissa’s brother, Harry. He might be
more forthcoming, under the right circumstances, if he knows anything
at all about a secret amour.”

Judith appeared
mildly astonished. Then realizing it was only a jest, the woman gave
her a complacent smile and shook her head. “This is not a laughing
matter, Prudence. Nothing must prevent Margaret from marrying Sir
James.” Then squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her
nose, she exclaimed with sudden warmth, “The child vexes me so! She
gives Sir James no encouragement at all.”

“I am frankly
surprised this indifference has not cooled the gentleman’s ardor,”
Prudence admitted, smoothing her skirt with one hand. She felt even
more intrigued about Sir James Brownell than before. Her cousin was
not a beauty or an heiress. Why should Sir James be so insistent upon
marrying Margaret when surely there were young females who would be
more willing? Why did he not give her up, as he did the vicar’s
discriminating daughter and move on to more fertile ground?

“To oblige his
mama, Sir James is determined to take Margaret to wife, and I thank
God for it,” her aunt said feelingly.

“Because you
don’t want her to remain an old maid, like me,” Prudence replied
in an offhand manner, hoping to lighten her aunt’s mood.

After
a brief but pregnant pause, Judith confided in low, tragic tones,
“Because there is the most abominable debt to pay.”

Bewildered,
Prudence asked, “What debt?”

“Giles’s
gambling debts.” This in a lower tone still.

Prudence gasped
softly. She had not known her Uncle Giles had gambled or that he’d
left his widow saddled with gambling debts. “Is it so steep then?”
she asked, leaning forward. “Does Margaret know?” She wondered
too if her own mother knew her elder brother had been a gamester?

“No,
Margaret does not know, and Prudence, I beg you will not tell her,”
her aunt pleaded, sitting up slightly on the chaise. “You would not
be so unfeeling? She idolized her father and knows nothing of his
gambling habit. Giles loved Margaret too—called her his Little
Button. He never once complained I did not bear him a son.” With a
sniff, Judith carried her crumbled handkerchief to her nose. Her eyes
filled with sentimental tears. “I cannot help but think had I been
able to produce more children, perhaps he wouldn’t have taken to
gaming as he did,” she added in a tremulous voice.

“I’m
sorry, Aunt Judith, I had no idea,” Prudence admitted, dismayed.
“Does my mother know about the debt? Does my father know?”

“Oh,
yes, Henry, God bless him, has helped when he could,” Judith told
her. “Your dear mother has been quite understanding too. But your
father is not a rich man either, although he is a landed gentleman
and fortunately need not rely solely on his living from the church
for an income. But I do not want to be a burden upon your
parents—upon anyone. I’ve sold most of the Leyes family
jewels, which came to Giles when we married—all except the pearls,
which I gave to Margaret upon her coming out. I still hold the
sapphires too, which I planned to give her upon the occasion of her
marriage.”

Prudence,
surprised by the revelation of her late uncle’s vices, felt a surge
of bitter resentment toward him for placing her aunt and cousin in
this awkward predicament. Excessive gambling was one of the many sins
the popular reformer Mr. William Wilberforce so strongly denounced.
More than once he had declared theirs a decadent generation of
excesses. Her father couldn’t have agreed more and preached the
same from his pulpit on more than one occasion.

When
Prudence remained silent, her aunt went on. “I have been trying to
quietly pay back what I could over the years. It has not been easy.
Other widows in my predicament often have sons or brothers to pay off
these so-called debts of honor, but I refuse to be completely
dependent upon Henry. Why, it would send him to the poorhouse! And I
can hardly allow Giles’s debts to follow Margaret and me to the
grave, can I?”

“This
is dreadful,” Prudence exclaimed, shaking her head as she tried to
digest her aunt’s shocking news. “I would never have guessed
Uncle Giles gambled so excessively—and how you, his widow, would be
held responsible for his debts.”

“It
is hardly something one talks about it, even within the family,”
her aunt acknowledged with an embarrassed blush. “You must promise
me you will not mention this to Margaret.” She blinked several
times.

“I
promise,” Prudence replied. She meant it.

Her
aunt hung her head. “Oh, Pru, it is so humiliating. You see, Giles
owed money to many close friends and acquaintances. It is imperative
that Margaret marry Sir James, so we might settle your uncle’s
debts honorably.”

“I
have no desire to pry too closely, but does Sir James know the extent
of the debts?” Prudence asked.

“Yes,
I’ve taken Sir James into my confidence. He has assured me he will
pay off the debts in full once he and Margaret are married. He is all
that is kind and good, I assure you. I look forward to living out the
rest of my years with peace of mind and a modicum of comfort.”

Judith,
reaching for a clear bottle of lavender-colored pills, peered at her
niece and said, “Come now, let’s not talk of it any more. Go to
Lady Oldenfield’s and see Margaret safely vaccinated. Meet Sir
James and take the measure of the man. You will not find him wanting.
Then see if you cannot persuade your headstrong cousin to look upon
him more favorably.”

“I will do my
best,” Prudence assured her, rising. “Will you send for the
carriage?”

Her
aunt nodded and reached out a hand toward her. Fixing Prudence with a
look of earnest appeal, she said, “So you quite understand now,
don’t you, Pru? If Margaret does not marry Sir James, her future
will be as uncertain and precarious as my own.”

Prudence,
holding her aunt’s cool and trembling hand, nodded and swallowed
hard. She could indeed understand how, from her aunt’s perspective,
it was important to both her future happiness and security—as well
as Margaret’s own—the marriage to Sir James come off
successfully. “I do understand, Aunt Judith. You may rely on me.”

But
as she took her leave, Prudence was still puzzled by the gentleman’s
persistence. Why should he be so intent upon marrying Margaret when
she seemed less than eager? Prudence loved Meg, certainly, but her
cousin had no beauty, position, or wealth to recommend her. Not only
was she indifferent to his suit, but also her family was encumbered
heavily with so-called “debts of honor.”

And
if Margaret had spoken truthfully, Sir James’s affections were not
strongly engaged either. This was not a love match on either side. It
didn’t make sense. Could not a man with Sir James’s wealth and
position find another Bath miss to propose marriage to—one without
an embarrassment of gambling debts to pay off in her father’s name?
Surely his mother had other friends with eligible but more willing
daughters?

Friday, September 5, 2014

I
am a former longtime newspaper journalist who now works in government
affairs on California water issues. I also teach College English at a
California Community College in Southern California. In my spare
time, I do freelance writing for a regional human interest magazine.
Guardian’s Nightmare is my first novel. The second book in the
series, Hero’s Way, is due out in early 2015. Along with that
series, I have completed two other books, one a pirate story and the
other a story of a young man whose genetic disorder might just make
him a superhero. I reside in California’s desert Southwest with my
wife, two sons and two crazy dogs.

Favorite
reads?

I
am a big fan, like so many other fantasy writers, of J.R.R. Tolkien,
so all of his books from The Hobbit, to the Lord of the Rings trilogy
to Silmarillion and The Children of Hurin are all on my list of
favorite books. I am also a big fan of the Star Wars literature that
expands on the universe created by George Lucas.

Inspirations
for the book?

Like
all the books I write, the inspiration tends to come from my own
experiences in my youth. For this particular book, the inspiration
came from a time when my family moved to a new home, and I had to
attend a new school. It was really tough fitting in and that brought
some new challenges and struggles into my life. Keep in mind when I
started the book, the lead character was a boy, but somewhere along
the line I decided the character might work better as a girl. I guess
the strange part, one I still am not so clear on, is how I took the
struggles of being in a new school and turned it into a fantasy story
involving magic and dimensional portals.

Did
you know you wanted to be an author when you were little?

I
always enjoyed writing, even as a kid, but I think I knew I wanted to
be a writer the summer before my freshman year of high school. That
was the year Ghostbusters came out, and when I saw it, for some
reason I was amazed at the kind of writing that could make these
actors so funny and make audiences react with such laughter. I knew
then I wanted to make people react a certain way with the written
word. I went home immediately and wrote my version of Ghostbusters II
(nothing like the movie that actually came out). But from that point
on I knew that someday I would write books.

Any
Pet Peeves?

My
own lack of time to write.

Chocolate
or Peanut Butter?

Peanut
butter straight out of the jar on a spoon. No bread. No jelly.

The
weirdest thing you've ever done?

Not
sure this is the weirdest, but my friends and I did dare each other
one summer to jump off the pier in Redondo Beach, California. I was
the only one to jump.

Is
there a soundtrack to the book/Favorite music?

I
don’t really have a soundtrack, but music plays a critical role in
my writing. I usually listen to my iPod as I think of scenes, and
music by Rush, Genesis, Journey, AC/DC, Ozzy, The Police and so many
more really help me to get into the scenes.

Do
you need anything to write?

Just
time and quiet (although music helps me to focus as long as it’s
not too loud).

How
long do you write on any average day?

I
don’t measure my writing quite like that. I tell myself if I can
write ten good pages a week, than I am moving in the right direction.

Give
us the number one reason to read your book.

Keep
in mind, it’s for middle grade and young adult readers (though I
think adults will enjoy it, too). But the number one reason to read
my book is that it is pure escapism fun. It’s the kind of book that
will take you on an adventure, one you could complete in one weekend
of reading.

Charlee Smelton is a thirteen-year-old girl adjusting to her new life in San Francisco. Bullied at school, friendless, she is having trouble just trying to figure out where she belongs. Then, she receives a gift of the most hideous bike she’s ever seen. Despite all efforts, she cannot seem to ditch the heap of scrap metal on two wheels, as if the bike might be something more than it seems. Next come the strange dreams about a princess and a giant knight in some far off mystical land. She soon realizes she has bigger problems than fitting in at school. Ultimately, she will have to discover the truth about who she really is to save herself, her family—the world—from an evil only she can defeat. But will she discover the truth too late?

Monday, September 1, 2014

Heather Beck is a Canadian Author and Screenwriter who began writing professionally at the age of sixteen. Her first book was published when she was only nineteen years old. Since then she has written eleven well-reviewed books which have sold in six continents.

Heather received an Honors Bachelor of Arts degree from university where she specialized in English and studied an array of disciplines. Currently, she is working on two young adult novels and has three middle grade anthologies slated for publication. As a screenwriter, Heather has multiple television shows and movies in development. Her short films include Young Eyes, The Rarity, Too Sensible For Love, and Circular.

Besides writing, Heather’s greatest passion is the outdoors. She is an award-winning fisherwoman and a regular hiker. Her hobbies include swimming, playing badminton and volunteering with non-profit organizations.

Favorite reads?

It’s really sad, but I rarely have a chance to read due to work/life commitments. There are so many books being published that I’d love to read, and I can’t think of anything better than lying in a hammock with a great paranormal romance book. The last book I read was maybe a couple of years ago; it was Ali’s Pretty Little Lies by Sara Shepard. As a fan of the TV show, I just had to read the book, and I absolutely loved it!

Inspirations for Frostbitten?

For the longest time, I wanted to write a young adult paranormal romance novel featuring werewolves.Frostbitten actually began as a screenplay back in 2007; however, I decided it would work better as a novel since the movie would require a lot of special effects. The inspiration for the book started with my interest in werewolves and the mythology surrounding them. I wanted to stay true to their original mythology (silver bullets, etc.) while also adding my own touches. I just wanted to make this fast-paced love story with relatable characters and a plot that’s filled with twists and turns. Setting it in a small town in the dead of winter was another inspiration because, like werewolves, winter is stunningly beautiful and magical.

Did you know you wanted to be an author when you were little?

I definitely always knew that I wanted to be a writer. When I was young, I loved reading a variety of books and I would often write short stories. Then in high school, I literally took all of the English courses available. My love of the written word continued into university, where I obtained an Honours Bachelor of Arts, with a specialist in English. I feel like I was born to write because it’s something that comes so easily to me. New plots, characters and settings are constantly entering my mind, making it hard for me to stop writing!

Any Pet Peeves?

My biggest pet peeves are cruel people and unchivalrous men. I know that may seem random, but I believe we should be kind to one another and that all women deserve to be treated well.

Chocolate or Peanut Butter?

Natural peanut butter; the kind that isn’t filled with lots of preservatives.

The weirdest thing you've ever done?

I have a fondness for training wild animals. Okay, I’m only referring to chipmunks, squirrels and cottontail rabbits, but still, it’s rewarding to see your patience and effort result in a cute little animal eating from your hand or allowing you to pet it.

Is there a soundtrack for Frostbitten?

Absolutely. It’s great when you find a song that really epitomizes your work, like it was written just for your book! Here’s my playlist:

Imagine Dragons - Demons

David Guetta/Sia - Titanium

Zedd ft. Foxes – Clarity

One Republic – Secrets

Olly Murs/Flo Rida - Troublemaker

The Fray - You Found Me

Armin van Buuren/Trevor Guthrie - This Is What It Feels Like

Daniel Powter - Crazy All My Life

Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me

Do you need anything to write?

No, I can seriously write anywhere, whether it be in my backyard, at my cottage or even in my pool! I prefer to write when it’s quiet, but since that’s not always possible, I’ve learned to write in any situation.

How long do you write on any average day?

It varies quite a bit. If I’m writing a book or have been contracted for a project, it’s not uncommon for me to spend 14 hours a day working. If I’m editing my scary stories series, The Horror Diaries, I would work roughly eight hours. Marketing also takes up a lot of time, and even things some people might not think of (such as bookkeeping) adds on to that. Additionally, I truly believe a writer is always working because we take life experiences and incorporate it into our work.

Give us the number one reason to read your book.

Filled with great beauty and forbidden love, Frostbitten is the beginning of an epic romance.

Seventeen-year-old Anastasia Lockhart has never led an easy life, but when she starts getting into serious trouble, she’s sent to live with her grandparents in Cedar Falls. The small, picturesque town hasn’t changed since she visited four years ago, with one exception – the presence of a handsome, mysterious boy named Frost. Despite warnings from her grandparents and friends to stay away from Frost, Anastasia can’t deny their attraction, and the more time they spend together, the deeper in love they fall. Unfortunately, Frost has a secret that is beyond Anastasia’s wildest imagination, and she soon finds herself in the midst of a supernatural legend that has haunted Cedar Falls for years.

Can Anastasia and Frost’s love really overcome anything, or are their fates much darker?

In England, 1270 A.D., Auriella (pronounced yurr-ee-ella) flees her village after being accused of witchcraft. Pursued by nightmarish creatures, she struggles to accept the truth about her humanity.
Filled with fairies, dwarves, pixies, dragons, demons, and monsters, Knight of Light is an enthralling tale that will capture the imaginations of readers young and old.

The Watchers Series has been described as Braveheart meets Supernatural.
The mythology for the series is based on many theological texts from dozens of sects with correlating themes. Ancient writings include The Dead Sea Scrolls, The Traditional Apocrypha, The Pearl of Great Price, and The Kabbalah.

“The Watchers” are supernatural beings in human form whose duty it is to protect and guard mankind from the armies of darkness.
Unfortunately, as the Book of Enoch mentions, some of these Watchers go bad. Although the mythology is based on these texts, Deirdra Eden’s The Watcher’s Series is written in a traditional fairytale style with a young girl’s discovery of incredible, but dangerous powers within herself, a cast of humorous side-kicks, a quest for greater self-discovery and purpose, and villains of epic proportions.

"My goal in writing is to saturate my books with intrigue, mystery, romance, and plot twists that will keep my readers in suspense. I want to see fingerprints on the front and back covers where readers have gripped the novel with white knuckles!
Aside from writing, I enjoy jousting in arenas, planning invasions, horseback riding through open meadows, swimming in the ocean, hiking up mountains, camping in cool shady woods, climbing trees barefoot, and going on adventures."-Deirdra Eden

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About Me

I LOVE to read! Mostly it's Fantasy, Sci-Fi, or Dystopian, but occasionally historical fiction as well.
Disclaimer: sometimes I rave, sometimes I squeak, sometimes I may pummel my audience verbally. Please bring your Dragon for protection. This blog is not responsible for any injuries resulting from lack of Dragon.